


all these young bodies turn

by VeryImportantDemon



Series: Evolve [3]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: And a great-granddaughter named Bambi, Episode: s03e05 A Life in the Day, Falling In Love, Gen, M/M, Margo and Eliot are soulmates pry that from my cold dead hands, Margo loves it, SO MUCH FLUFF, They have a granddaughter named Arielle, Weddings, fluff!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-12-26 09:51:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18280721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeryImportantDemon/pseuds/VeryImportantDemon
Summary: “The Monster showed me a lot of shit,” Eliot started. “A lot of it was real. It all started in something real but some of the memories… They became things that made me happy stitched together.” He studied the hand holding his cigarette, the way his fingers curled up and the lines in his palm. “I want to feel something real.”Silence stretched for a few long beats before Quentin spoke. “Okay,” he said.





	all these young bodies turn

**Author's Note:**

> I lied when I said 3 part series. It's actually going to be 4! The epilogue should be a lot shorter than the first 3 parts so I should be able to have it up soon

-26-

 

Eliot woke up with Quentin’s arm around his waist and sunlight streaming through the open window. Birds chirped - actually chirped and not talked like animals in Fillory tended to do. It was peaceful, calm. But there was still a shadow weighing on him. He thought it was just the physical darkness so he opened his eyes. 

 

His bedroom looked the exact same as it had the night before. His nice, royal clothes were haphazardly thrown over a chair. The window was propped open, the greenery thick and lush behind it. A normal, not-talking bird fluttered by. Eliot shifted on his pillow and there was Quentin beside him. He was snoring softly, his chest bare and dark hair spread like a halo. He hasn’t woken yet. Everything was normal but something still weighed on Eliot’s heart. 

 

He slowly and carefully disentangled himself from Quentin’s arms. He slunk towards the window, carefully missing the creaky floorboards. Leaning against the window sill, Eliot smiled. There was something else he’d left on it the night before - a package of cigarettes. He removed one, snapping his fingers and lighting it. It was a spell he’d done countless times before. He breathed in deep before blowing the smoke out again. The smoke twisted in the air, drawn together to form what looked like a horse. It reared up on its back legs, whinnying silently before it galloped out the window and disappeared. It was one of Eliot’s favorite ‘party trick’ spells and he could cast it without even thinking no. It was easy, peaceful, but something still weighed on him. He was upset about something he couldn’t place. He missed something so hard his chest ached. 

 

Eliot sucked in another puff of the cigarette and as he blew out it came to him.

 

There was a shuffle of movement behind him. The mattress shifted and Quentin sat up, the blankets falling around his waist. “Is someone out there?” he asked, frowning. 

 

Eliot sighed softly, shaking his head. He turned and sat on the edge of the window, the cigarette dangling between his fingers. Quentin was barely awake, his eyes dull with sleep, but Eliot already had his full attention. “No,” he said, “just thinking.”

 

“Thinking?” Quentin frowned. “Thinking about what?”

 

Eliot hesitated, letting the silence stretch as he debated whether or not he should talk. He finally decided to because it was Quentin. He couldn’t lie to Quentin. “Ted,” he said finally. “Today’s his birthday. Or… It would be if he existed.”

 

Quentin went quiet, too. Eliot could practically see the slideshow of memories playing behind his eyes. A chubby fist pulling at a dark curl. Throwing a boy into the air like he could fly and listening to the laughter like music. Holding a little boy’s hand while he walked for the first time. Watching as that same boy walked away. The million moments in the middle. 

 

“How old do you think he’d be now?” Quentin asked. “And, you know… Our grandkids?”

 

Eliot shrugged again. “I don’t know,” he said truthfully. “But I…” He faltered, frowning before he spoke again. “Do you think about him? Do you think he’s still out there?”

 

“I do think about him,” Quentin admitted. “But I… I don’t know, El. It was an alternate timeline. One we didn’t have to live. “

 

“But maybe we did,” Eliot insisted. He lifted the cigarette to his lips and took another drag before he continued. “I mean, we remember it. There’s no way would could remember something that didn’t happen. And Margo ended up with that key which she never would’ve had if someone hadn’t solved the Mosaic. And you’re in the book, Q. The book where Jane meets the old man at the cottage. Maybe it wasn’t an alternate timeline. Maybe it was just… A fucked-up part of this one.”

 

Quentin blinked slowly at him, his tired mind trying to comprehend the possible impossibility that their life together had actually happened. That their son and grandchildren could be out there somewhere. “You want to go look for him, don’t you?” Quentin asked finally. 

 

Eliot hesitated for a beat before he spoke. “Yeah,” he said. “I know it was real. It was real because we remembered it.” He paused for a beat, his mind spinning again. He had lived through a lot when he was trapped inside of his own mind. All of his memories were real, but some of them splintered off into happy things he wished he’d done. Their life together was real because they remembered it. It being just in his head didn’t make it less real. But he needed to know. 

 

“The Monster showed me a lot of shit,” Eliot started. “A lot of it was real. It all started in something real but some of the memories… They became things that made me happy stitched together.” He studied the hand holding his cigarette, the way his fingers curled up and the lines in his palm. “I want to feel something real.”

 

Silence stretched for a few long beats before Quentin spoke. “Okay,” he said. “Okay. Let’s go look.”

 

Eliot beamed, crossing to their bed again. He snapped his fingers again to put the cigarette out before tucking it behind his ear and kneeling in front of Quentin. He cupped the other man’s face in his hands. “I love you,” he said sincerely, pulling him close so their foreheads were touching. 

 

Quentin smiled, reaching up and taking the cigarette from Eliot’s ear. He snapped his fingers, lit it, and draped himself back on the bed to take a puff. “I know,” he said. 

 

-25-

 

“This is going to be the best fucking side quest Fillory has ever seen,” Eliot said, one arm wrapped around Quentin’s waist. They had dressed and packed and were leaving the castle for the little cottage that had been theirs once upon a time. It seemed like a logical place to start their search for any living descendants, should they actually exist. “Nothing could possibly-”

Quentin cut him off, frowning. “Don’t you dare,” he said. “If you jinx this, I’ll…”

 

“Kidding, Q,” Eliot said, squeezing him slightly. “I wouldn’t jeopardize this.” After all of the needlessly difficult quests for the keys and the body parts, a simple, low-stakes quest was nice. Really nice. Besides, Eliot needed a task. He’d always needed something to fixate on, something to keep himself busy. If he doesn’t have that, he get too loud and he drinks and smokes and takes drugs to the point of destroying himself. Stepping outside the castle was going to be good for him. It really was. 

 

-24-

 

By the time he and Quentin reached the stables, one of their stable hands had two horses tacked up and ready to go. “You’re a dear,” Eliot said, patting the teenager on the shoulder. The boy looked bewildered as Eliot swung up on his horse, a graceful collection of long curls and longer legs. Quentin swung up on his own horse, a black stallion contrasting Eliot’s white one, before he shrugged at the stable hand. 

 

“Come on, Patrick,” Eliot said, patting the horse’s neck and spurring him on with a gentle tapp of his heels. Quentin urged his horse on, too, quickly catching up to Eliot. 

 

“Patrick?” he asked, frowning. 

 

Eliot hummed in acknowledgement. “His name is Patrick Swayze and I love him,” he said with absolute seriousness. Quentin smiled, shaking his head slightly. It was good Eliot was like this. After banishing the Monster, Eliot hadn’t been doing so well on Earth. He had spiraled down in a pattern Quentin knew very well. He’d improved a lot since then and their return to Fillory, but it was still nice to see him laughing and joking around. Maybe this little ‘side quest’ was exactly what they needed. 

 

“I love you,” Quentin said fondly.

 

Eliot smiled back, laughing a little. His eyes had that spark that Quentin hadn’t seen in a very long time. It really was nice. 

 

“Love you, too,” Eliot said. “Now, how far is the cottage from Whitespire?”

 

Quentin shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “It’s weird. In the fifty years we were here, we never once went to the castle.”

 

Eliot shook his head slightly. “That would’ve been too much weird on top of the weird we were already standing in. Being somewhere that was supposed to be our home but it was filled with strangers…” 

 

Quentin considered that thought for a few moments before he spoke again. “That was probably a good idea,” he admitted. 

 

“Still don’t know where I’m going,” Eliot chimed in. 

 

Quentin freed his fingers from the horse’s mane before quickly casting a spell. Berglund’s was an old spell from Viking times but it worked wonders no matter the time period. When Quentin finished prattling on in Dutch and performing the intricate hand motions, a small plume of smoke loomed in front of them. The only caveat for Berglund’s was that the caster had to have been to the place they were travelling to. Luckily, Quentin had been to the cottage before. 

 

“After you,” Eliot said. 

 

Quentin urged his horse forward and they set off together. 

 

-23-

 

Riding through the forest with Quentin was nice, Eliot thought. Calming. It was the most peaceful he’d felt in a long time even though he knew Fillory’s woods were fraught with different dangers. There was something about trotting through the trees with no one but Quentin, their horses, and the plume of smoke for company that soothed him. “We should do this more often,” he said with a happy sigh.

 

“I wish,” Quentin said. “But the kingdom doesn’t run itself, you know.”

 

Eliot pretended to pout but he was smiling all the time. He didn’t think anything could sour his good mood. “If it did, that would be a whole lot easier,” he suggested. 

 

Quentin shook his head, almost smiling, and directed his gaze forward at the plume of smoke. It was getting smaller as they rode, signifying that they were getting closer to their destination. They had a ways to ride yet, but they were heading in the right direction.

 

“I’m hungry,” Eliot said abruptly, shaking Quentin out of his thoughts. 

 

“I asked the stable hand to pack us something to eat. Should be in your saddlebag,” Quentin said. He had anticipated their quest taking them from the cottage to the city they knew Ted had lived in after he left their home where they could pick up more food if they were going to be away any longer so their rations were slim. He watched Eliot riffle through the saddlebags before sitting up straight again, nothing in his hands.

 

“Nothing up to your standards?” Quentin said, a little amused. 

 

“I want something with sugar in it,” Eliot said. He scoured the landscape as they rode, pulling Patrick to a stop. “Wait up, Q,” he said. “I found something.” 

 

Quentin pulled on his horse gently and she stopped obediently. He watched as Eliot swung one long leg over Patrick’s back and hopped down, his knees bending on the landing. Before him was a tree of what looked like peaches. Quentin smiled faintly, like he always did when he saw a peach, and therefore wasn’t paying as much attention as he should have. If he hadn’t been thinking of Arielle, he would have noticed the rope camouflaged in the leaves. He would’ve seen Eliot reaching up for a peach and stepping right into the trap. 

 

He did, however, hear Eliot yell “Fuck!” and see him get jerked into the air by his ankle.

 

-22-

 

Quentin immediately slid off his horse and hurried to where Eliot was hanging from a tree branch. “What the fuck,” he said, already struggling to get the rope off. It seemed, however, that the more he struggled, the tighter the rope got. “Motherfucker!” he cried out. “Don’t just stand there, Quentin, you useless bisexual. I’m losing my few brain cells hanging here.”

 

Quentin fluttered about near Eliot’s head. He’d seen this before, someone he knew hanging from a rope by their ankle. He knew how to fix it. There was a riddle. “Stop struggling!” he said. Eliot, for some reason, did not. “El, it gets tighter if you pull on it! Stop!”

 

Heaving a sigh, Eliot finally ceased in his flailing, now hanging limply from the tree, his fingertips almost reaching the ground. “Do we have a knife or something?” he asked. “Surely we don’t rely so much on magic that we don’t even have a damn knife.” 

 

Quentin shook his head. “We don’t need one,” he said. “There’s a riddle. On this rope somewhere, there’s a riddle. You just have to answer it and then you’re free.”

 

Eliot thought about that for a beat. “Why the fuck,” he asked. 

 

Quentin remembered telling Jane Chatwin the same thing years ago, remembered the tingle in his chest as he realized he was a part of the Fillory books. But the fact that it was his boyfriend hanging from the tree made it seem more dire. “Ethical dilemma,” he said, already following the rope with his eyes. “Don’t want to eat something smarter than you…” 

 

“That bodes well for me,” Eliot said wryly. 

 

“Got it!” Quentin said triumphantly. He had to stretch to try and reach it and jump when that didn’t work, but they slip of paper was tight in his hand. “I have cities, but no houses. I have mountains, but no trees. I have water, but no fish. What am I?” he recited. 

 

“How the fuck should I know?” Eliot asked. “All the blood is rushing to my head.”

 

“Just think,” he said. “Think… Abstract, not literal. That’s usually how you answer these things.”

 

Eliot frowned slightly, lost in thought while Quentin paced, both of them trying to find an answer. After a few beats of tense silence, Eliot spoke up. “I got it,” he said. “I’m not a dumbass. It’s a map!”

 

Upon hearing the answer, the rope immediately loosened, dropping Eliot to the ground. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, taking a beat to lay on the leafy forest floor.

 

Quentin hurried over, kneeling beside him. “Oh my God, El,” he said. “Are you okay? You’re okay, right?”

 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Eliot said, sighing and sitting up. “That landing hurt like a motherfucker…” Bracing his hand on Quentin’s shoulder, Eliot rose to his feet. As soon as he tried to take a step, his left ankle, the one that had been ensnared in the trap, throbbed painfully and nearly gave out beneath him. It was only Quentin’s proximity that kept him from hitting the ground entirely.

 

“Get on the horse, let me look,” Quentin said. 

 

Huffing, Eliot let Quentin help him on Patrick’s back, wincing slightly when he put too much pressure on his ankle. Quentin crouched down again, looking closely at the injury. “It just looks sprained,” he said. “I’ll see what I can do when we get to the cottage. I was never one for healing spells.” 

 

“Things can never go too smoothly,” Eliot said. 

 

“Murphy’s Law,” Quentin agreed. 

 

Before he could cross back to his own horse, he was stopped by Eliot. “Wait, Q,” he said. “Can you get me a peach? Please?” 

 

Quentin shook his head, smiling a little, as he plucked a ripe peach from the branches, tossing it to Eliot. “Thanks, babe,” Eliot said, blowing him a kiss. 

 

-21-

 

The plume of smoke kept shrinking until it looked like something that would come off the end of the cigarette. By the time it was that small, Eliot was starting to recognize his surroundings. He knew that massive oak tree, knew that clearing, knew the spring he could hear babbling nearby. He knew this place. There was a strong feeling of going home that Eliot couldn’t - not that he wanted to - shake. This was home.

 

When they approached the edge of the trees lining the clearing, Eliot could hear movement. Someone was giggling. A young girl’s voice. Eliot’s heart leapt into his throat because he knew that sound. It sounded just like his granddaughter’s laugh. The plume of smoke dissipated as they broke through the trees.

 

There was a little girl sitting with her legs crossed on top of the Mosaic, what looked like a design of a sun and brightly-colored sky behind it. She was playing with a doll and laughing to herself. Until, of course, she noticed them.

 

“Mama!” She cried. “Mama, there’s people in our yard!”

 

For the first time Eliot thought of how badly this could go. This was just some cottage in the woods now. Anyone could live there. Maybe this was trespassing.

 

“It’s alright,” Quentin assured her, swinging off of his horse. “My name’s Quentin.” 

 

The girl’s brows furrowed in concentration. “Like the king?” she asked.

 

He nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “And this is Eliot. He’s a king, too.”

 

Eliot waved with his fingers at the little girl. “Hi,” he said. 

 

“Hi,” she chirped back. She stood up, heading towards the door of the cottage with the doll in one hand. “Mama, the High King is in our garden.” 

 

There was a shuffle of movement from inside the cottage. The curtains shifted slightly as a woman threw the door open. “Bambi, I doubt the High King is-”

 

The woman froze upon hearing them, her eyes wide. Eliot was sure his expression mirrored hers. She was older than the last time they had met. She looked, oddly enough, about his age, perhaps a little older. But there was something in her eyes that Eliot would recognize anywhere. The woman in front of him was his granddaughter, Arielle. 

 

She put a hand over her heart, bunching up the fabric of her dress. “Granpapa,” she said. “Grandad.” 

 

She lurched forward towards Quentin, her arms outstretched. Quentin reciprocated and Eliot watched from Patrick’s back as Quentin held her tightly as he could. 

 

“Little Ari,” Quentin said with a watery laugh. “God, Ari…” 

 

Arielle pulled back from the hug, hastily brushing tears out of her eyes and wiping her hands on her skirts. “I can’t believe you’re here,” she said, laughing too. “Oh, Grandad…” She turned to Eliot now, her smile widening. “Granpa El,” she said. 

 

Eliot swung his good leg over the horse’s back, hitting the ground before freeing his bad ankle from the stirrup. He winced a little bit the pain was incidental because Arielle rushed towards him. He took her in his arms, squeezing tight as she pressed her face against the crook of his neck. “Granpa,” she repeated like she couldn’t believe it. Eliot couldn’t, either. 

 

“You’ve gotten bigger since I last saw you,” he said when they pulled back. 

 

Arielle laughed, shaking her head slightly. “I suppose I have,” she said. “And you’ve gotten younger! I haven’t seen you two in… Since I was a girl. How are you here?” 

 

“Long story,” Eliot said. “The kind of story to tell over bourbon or good wine.” He paused. “And a splint.” 

 

“Oh!” Arielle said. “I didn’t realize you were hurt. I think I can handle a sprained ankle.” She slipped one arm around his shoulders and Quentin supported the other side. “Bambi, sweetheart, can you get the door?”

 

The little girl with the doll hurried over to the cottage door and pulled it open, waiting patiently for her mother and her great-grandparents to enter. When Eliot hobbled through the door she held open, it really felt like going home.

 

-20-

 

“So, that’s the story,” Eliot said, swirling the amber liquid in his glass before taking another swig. His bandages ankle had been propped up on one of the kitchen chairs. “We travelled back in time to solve the Mosaic, had Ted who had you, finished the puzzle, and were essentially whisked back to our proper timeline.”

 

Arielle considered this for a few moments. “And long before you ever came to Fillory for the Mosaic,” she said slowly, processing, “you came here and became kings?”

 

“Pretty much,” Quentin said.

 

“That’s a headscratcher,” she said.

 

“I know,” Eliot admitted. “That’s why I try not to think about it too much. Time travel makes your head hurt.”

 

It was odd, Eliot thought as he looked around, that the cottage looked more or less the same as it had when he and Quentin and Arielle has lived there. There were a few small differences, like where the table was, the quilt draped over the bed, the color of the curtains. But there were two major differences he could see. “The Mosaic,” he said. “You put one together?”

 

Arielle hummed and nodded. “After you two were gone, Papa started it. Every year he would make a new one. For you.” 

 

Eliot glanced over, smiling just as much at the slight quirk upward of Quentin’s lips as the revelation Arielle had just told them. “Wow,” Quentin said.

 

“Wow,” Eliot agreed. 

 

He allowed a beat of pause before he shifted his gaze to the little girl lingering behind her mother. “And who’s this adorable little munchkin?” he asked. The girl glanced at Arielle as if for permission before scampering over to Eliot. He lifted her into his lap, setting her on his knee. 

 

“Bambi,” Arielle said fondly, smiling at her daughter. 

 

“Bambi?” Quentin and Eliot said at the same time.

 

“Your name’s Bambi?” Eliot asked her. Still holding her doll tight, she nodded. 

 

Eliot laughed, bouncing her on his leg slightly with one hand on her back. 

 

“Papa told me stories all the time,” Arielle explained. “He told me about my granpa and grandad and my great auntie Margo. How she was the fiercest, strongest king or queen Fillory had ever seen. He said you called her Bambi, Granpa. I wanted my daughter to have a name that strong.”

 

“That…” Eliot trailed off, glancing at Quentin who was grinning, too. “That is actually the greatest thing I’ve ever heard.”

 

“So what brought you here?” Quentin asked. “To the cottage? The Mosaic?” 

 

Arielle shrugged slightly, refilling Eliot and Quentin’s glasses. “After my husband died, I wanted to move somewhere out of the town to do my weaving. Somewhere out in the woods. Papa talked about growing up here and I thought I would see if it was still unoccupied.” She smiled, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “Luckily, it was. We’ve lived here ever since. Granma Arielle’s family still own the peach orchard down the way so we do get company sometimes, and peaches and plums. It’s nice out here.”

 

“Yeah, it was,” Quentin agreed wistfully. 

 

Eliot knew the tone in Quentin’s voice because it was in his own. He often found himself longing for the simpler times, the decades he and Quentin had spent together in their quaint little cottage. “It really is,” Eliot added.

 

-19-

 

“Oh, dear,” Arielle said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear as she looked out a window, the sun hanging a little lower than high in the sky. They had sat together for awhile, talking and drinking, and she had her daughter back, bouncing Bambi on one leg. “It’s almost time for dinner. Are you hungry, Bambi?”

 

The little girl hummed, nodding. At her response, Arielle looked up at Quentin and Eliot. “Are you staying for supper?”

 

“We don’t want to overstay our welcome,” Quentin said, ever courteous, but Arielle shook her head. 

 

“Nonsense,” she said. “You’re family. You could never overstay.”

 

Eliot couldn’t help but smile at that. Being rejected by his own family had made him crave the word family even though he’d never actually told anyone he did. Hearing his granddaughter call him family, his granddaughter who he had previously thought may not even exist, warmed his heart more than he could articulate.

 

“In that case, guess we’re staying,” Eliot said. 

 

-18-

 

Quentin noticed things. He may not always have been the most observant, but when it came to Eliot Waugh, he noticed things, especially lately. He noticed how Eliot’s eyes lit up when he sat Bambi on his leg, noticed how he smiled when Arielle called them family, noticed how he looked like a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders and he could breathe again. He looked peaceful, calm, happy. Just seeing him like that made Quentin happy, too. 

 

Being here was good for Eliot and Quentin always wanted what was best for him. 

 

-17-

 

“Peaches? Plums?” a voice called from the doorway. Eliot and Quentin both instantly looked up from where they had been playing with Bambi and her dolls, Quentin with his legs crossed on the floor and Eliot from his chair, his injured ankle propped up. Before them wasn’t the Arielle they had loved but their granddaughter, holding out a basket of the fruits. “I thought you might want a little something before I get the rest of dinner done,” she explained. 

 

Eliot held out his hand. “Peach, please,” he said. Arielle handed him one before tossing another in Quentin’s direction. Eliot tossed his in the air, some quick spell-casting keeping it hovering before him. He started talking rapidly in Chinese, twisting his hands like he was peeling the peach without touching it. The skin slowly began to peel off in one smooth motion until it separated itself from the peach. Eliot flicked his left hand and the skin burst into sparks and flicked his right so the peach landed in his hand. 

 

Arielle smiled widely as she watched him work. “I know that spell,” she said. She performed it with less grace and finesse than Eliot did but the end result was the same. “Papa taught it to me. He said it was the first spell his papa and his dad ever taught him.”

 

“I remember that,” Quentin said, smiling faintly. “You and Ted sat outside for ages trying and trying. We didn’t know if Ted would even be able to do magic. But he did. We used so many peaches teaching him.” 

 

“And you made cobbler,” Eliot recalled, taking a bite. The juice ran down his chin and he didn’t mind at all. 

 

-16-

 

They talked for so long, telling stories about their respective lives, that eventually Arielle had to duck out and tuck Bambi into bed, holding her little doll tightly to her chest. When she returned, her daughter asleep, they talked and talked. Arielle told them about her husband, her siblings. Quentin told her about Eliot and Arielle, her grandmother. Eliot told her about Quentin and Margo. They told her about being kings and she told them out her weaving and her quilting of which she did very artfully without the need for magic. Quentin showed her a spell or two, some she didn’t know, and Arielle repeated them. Her skill wasn’t polished like a Brakebills magician. It was cobbled together and a little crude but it was functional and pretty damn beautiful, if Eliot said so himself. It was only when they had been talking for hours that Quentin asked about Ted. 

 

“Where is your father?” he asked cautiously, as if he knew the answer but was hoping he would get something different. Eliot’s focus sharpened because, of course, Ted had been the reason he had wanted to come here. It was Ted’s birthday. 

 

“He’s outside,” Arielle said simply. 

 

“Outside?” Eliot said, frowning. 

 

Arielle nodded. “He passed away a couple of years ago. Bambi was still a baby. He asked to be buried where he grew up so we brought him back here.”

 

Eliot fell silent. In actuality, he had lost Ted many years ago. But it still didn’t make it any easier to hear that his son was dead. Quentin was quiet, too, and Eliot had to think he was having the same thoughts. Ted was his son, too. Their family.

 

“I can take you to see him,” Arielle offered after allowing them their silence to grieve. 

 

“Yeah,” Eliot said eventually. He’d like that. It was closure he’d come after, anyways. He was going to get it. 

 

Quentin stood up, automatically moving to Eliot’s side. Eliot reached up, threading his arm around Quentin’s shoulders. Quentin supported half of his weight easily, simply. Neither of them thought to much about the arrangement. Supporting each other was natural. 

 

Arielle crossed to the door, pushing it open and holding it for Quentin and Eliot. They hobbled through a little awkwardly, one of Quentin’s arms around Eliot’s waist, and then lingered, waiting for Arielle. She led them towards the side of the house but before that got too far, Eliot shivered violently. 

 

“Jesus,” he said. 

 

Quentin startled, gently squeezing his waist. “You alright, El?” 

 

Eliot nodded. “Yeah, fine. Just… Got a weird feeling. Like someone’s…”

 

“Walking over your grave,” Arielle quipped. Eliot looked up, having forgotten for a beat she was there. 

 

“Yeah,” he said, frowning. “How’d you know I was going to say that?” 

 

Shrugging, Arielle smiled a little. “Because someone is,” she said. “You.” She pointed beneath him.

 

Quentin and Eliot locked eyes for a beat. “What the fuck,” Eliot said. 

 

“I…” Quentin trailed off, shaking his head. “Too weird.”

 

“Definitely too fucking weird,” Eliot agreed. They were here talking with their granddaughter, who they were about the same age as, who was talking them to see the grave of their son, who was older than them when he had died, and Eliot had just limped over his own grave. 

 

“Peyote,” they said together, a smile flashing on Eliot’s face, and then they forged on.

 

-15-

 

Ted was buried next to a tree. 

 

“I planted it,” Arielle explained. “It’s just this year really starting to flower.” The tree was rather small still, creeping up to barely Quentin’s height, but he could tell it was starting to grow. The branches were beginning to stretch outward and pink buds tipped them. 

 

For a long time, Eliot didn’t know what to say. He was the one who had requested this little sojourn to find Ted, but now that he was standing in front of his son, he didn’t know what to do. “We named him Ted after Q’s dad,” Eliot heard himself saying finally. He didn’t know who he was talking to, really. Arielle or Ted or himself. “We called him Teddy when he was little but when he got older, he was just Ted.”

 

“And you,” Quentin said. He seemed to have been similarly struck dumb, speaking only at Eliot’s prompting. “We named him after you. Theodore Eliot Coldwater-Waugh.”

 

Eliot smiled faintly as Quentin recited their son’s oddly lengthy name. As long as it was, it still made him smile because it was their son’s name. They had a son, Theodore Eliot Coldwater-Waugh, and he had a name and he was real. He had started to think, as the Monster plied him with memories of he and Quentin and Arielle and Ted that they were all fake. That the Monster had made him up and the best parts of Eliot’s lives were nothing at all. But they were here and everything was real. 

 

“Remember when I thought you two hated me?” Eliot said softly, his eyes still fixated on the tree. He suddenly wanted to sit so he let his grip on Quentin go slack as he slowly sank to his knees, wincing slightly. Quentin’s hand was on his back, Arielle hovering nervously nearby. “God, I thought you two were going to live your happily ever after and leave me out in the cold.”

 

“I could never,” Quentin said. Suddenly he was on the ground, too, his head on Eliot’s shoulder. “I couldn’t do any of this without you. I love you.” 

 

Eliot smiled, watching Quentin as he reached forward, plucking a pink blossom from the tree before tucking it behind Eliot’s ear between waves and dark curls. 

 

“Thank you,” Eliot said, and he imagined he was talking to both of the Arielles, Quentin, and Ted. 

 

-14-

 

They couldn’t travel that late at night, so Quentin and Eliot made up a bed outside the cottage in the warm summer air, a place they’d slept many times, sometimes with a little boy sandwiched between them. Their horses were tied nearby, tails swishing and flicking quietly in the night. Things were quiet. Peaceful. They’d met their granddaughter Arielle. They’d found Ted. Eliot should have closure, but he didn’t. Something still weighed on his chest. 

 

“Quentin,” he said softly. “Are you up?”

 

Quentin shuffled slightly, turning over in the bed to face Eliot. “Yeah,” he said. “Is something wrong?”

 

Eliot shook his head. “Not wrong, just…” He trailed off. “Ted was real. Arielle is real. That means… Our life actually happened. Our life was real.”

 

“Yeah,” Quentin said, his brow furrowing. “And?” 

 

“I… We never really talked about it,” Eliot said softly. 

 

Quentin was quiet for a few moments, presumably thinking. “We didn’t,” he admitted. “What do you want to talk about?”

 

Eliot took a deep breath before he launched into speech. “The Monster fucked me up,” he said. “He really, really fucked me up. But while he was walking around using me, he showed me things.”

 

“Memories,” Quentin said. “I remember.”

 

“He showed me a lot of you and me and Ted and Ari. And I started thinking… No fucking way that was real. It couldn’t be real because Eliot Waugh doesn’t get happy endings. I thought… I really thought that he made it up. And I wanted so fucking badly for it to be real because Q… I honestly didn’t think I was going to live to graduate high school. I thought someone was going to find me overdosed in a ditch somewhere. But then I went to Brakebills, and… And it still wasn’t enough. I was drinking myself to death. I still almost overdosed, again and again. I wasn’t really… I wasn’t happy. I wasn’t happy until I was with you. With you, in our lives here, I was happy. And I think part of me wanted to come here today because if I was that happy then, maybe I could be that happy again.”

 

Silence stretched between them again, but it wasn’t an awkward silence. They were just together, in the moment. 

 

“So anyway,” Eliot said finally, “That’s why I was so fucking scared when you asked me if I wanted to try again with you when we got back. I got scared because I didn’t know if I could replicate that here and I wanted to so badly. I never told you how much it meant to me. But…”

 

“Now you have,” Quentin said. 

 

Eliot hummed softly. “Yeah. I have.” 

 

Quentin paused before he leaned forward, pressing his lips to Eliot’s warmly. “I love you,” he said, so close that Eliot could feel his heart beating. “I really, really love you.”

 

Maybe Eliot really could do this whole ‘life’ thing right.

 

-13-

 

“Where’s that motherfucker?” Eliot cooed, holding the puppy up to his face. “Where is he? Where’s Quentin? Are you gonna go find Quentin, baby?”

 

The little dog yipped happily, wriggling in Eliot’s arm and planting a wet, sloppy kiss on his nose. He and Quentin had a dog. They’d been together in Fillory for a while, a few months since they’d stopped by to see Arielle and Bambi. They had a dog and they were very domestic and very happy. Eliot never saw himself being this happy. But they had Cancer Puppy II, now without cancer, and they were together, and Eliot loved it. 

 

“Okay, cutie pie,” Eliot said, setting the dog down on the stone floor of the castle. “Go get him! Go find him!” 

 

Cancer Puppy II was off to the races before his little feet had even hit the ground. Laughing, Eliot started after him. The puppy stumbled a little, bumping into walls and tables and almost tripping people up in his haste to find Quentin. It didn’t take him long because Quentin wasn’t exactly hiding. He was sitting in an open window, his legs dangling out of it, the warm air filling the corridor. 

 

“Hey, buddy!” Quentin cooed happily, scooping up the puppy that had excitedly scrabbled at the brick trying to get to him. He cuddled the little dog close to his chest, peppering him with kisses and praise. Eliot watched from a few feet away, leaning against the wall and smiling. 

 

Quentin finally noticed Eliot’s presence, smiling at him, too. His smile was so warm that it lit up the entire castle. It lit up Eliot. “Oh, hey,” he said. “I didn’t see you.”

 

Eliot smiled, too, one of his hands sinking into his pocket. “We should get married,” he said casually. 

 

Quentin startled, stilling even as he tried to keep the squirming dog in his arms. “Um,” he said. “What?”

 

“We should get married,” Eliot repeated. He pulled his hand out of his pocket, tossing something that had been wrapped in his hand at Quentin. Instinctively, Quentin reached up and grabbed it out of the air. Cancer Puppy II took his chance to free himself from Quentin’s arms, aggressively licking his face. The shift in balance almost tipped Quentin out the window but he managed to hold on to the lip of the window sill as he opened his hand. 

 

In the center of his palm was a gold band.

 

“I made it myself,” Eliot said. “Albeit with magic. And Margo’s input. It’s enchanted to be impossible to lose and fit perfectly and there’s an engraving.” 

 

Quentin held the ring in his palm, running his thumb over where Eliot knew the inscription was. 

 

_ EW & QC _

 

Quentin looked up, his face unreadable. Eliot hadn’t been nervous because proposing to Quentin seemed natural. Marriage to Eliot before had been something of convenience. He needed to marry to take his throne. He needed to marry to keep his kingdom from falling apart. But with Quentin, it seemed different. It seemed like something real, something that was about love, and Eliot wasn’t afraid of love anymore.

 

But he was nervous now and he got more nervous the longer Quentin went without speaking. Maybe he’d misinterpreted the situation. Maybe Quentin wouldn’t want to get married at all. Maybe- 

 

“This was dumb,” Eliot said. “I’m sorry. You can-“ 

 

Quentin cut him off before he could go any farther. “No, El,” he said. He palmed the ring like a sideshow magician would a quarter, weaving it between his fingers before it finally came to settle on his ring finger. It fit perfectly, just like Eliot knew it would. He stood up from the window sill and crossed to Eliot, standing on the tips of his toes to reach high enough to gently kiss him on the lips. “I really, really fucking wanna marry you,” Quentin said.

 

Eliot laughed brightly, beaming. He wrapped his arms around Quentin’s waist, spinning him around and peppering him with kisses. “We’re getting married,” he said, his face lit up brighter than the sun.

 

“We’re getting married,” Quentin agreed.

 

-12-

 

Quentin had been sitting at the writing desk for a very long time but the paper in front of him was blank. He wouldn’t know how to write this letter if he had thousands of words but he had to do it in increments of four. Maybe he should just abandon his task. Yeah, that would work. He should just stop.

 

But… He didn’t want to do that, either. He wanted to see her, wanted her to come. Julia it would be far easier to invite. Of course she would be there, if given the date and time. But Alice? 

 

He thought for what seemed liked hours before he finally came up with a short sequence. If she didn’t come, she didn’t come. But he tried.

 

_ Castle Whitespire, marrying El, _ the first rabbit would say, he finally settled on. And the second would croak,  _ Really want you here. _

 

-11-

 

“Thank God I’m such a magnificent party planner,” Eliot said with a sigh, draping himself majestically over their bed. “Our wedding is going to be the event of the Fillorian millennium. There will be a gorgeous cake and thousands of flowers and a metric shitton of the best wine. Margo will be my best man and Josh will officiate and Bambi will be the most adorable flower girl in-“

 

Eliot’s rambling wedding plans were cut off abruptly when Quentin perched on the edge of the bed, crawling over to Eliot and pressing their mouths together. No wedding plans were made for the rest of the night.

 

-10-

 

Their day had finally arrived. Eliot was awake and buried in blankets with his beloved Margo beside him. They were pressed close together, Margo still sleeping until Eliot’s shifting woke her up. “Good morning, sleepy head,” he teased, kissing her forehead. 

 

Margo yawned, sitting up and stretching. The blankets looked around her waist. “Ready to get married?” she asked. 

 

“I hope so,” he said. “Thanks for letting me crash with you last night.”

 

“Of course,” she said. “I’m pretty sure if you see Q before the ceremony one of you will explode or someone’s dick will fall off.”

 

“We definitely want to avoid that,” Eliot agreed. 

 

“Now, get up,” Margo said, smacking Eliot with a pillow. “We have to make you pretty.” 

 

Eliot put a hand over his heart, offended. “I’m hurt,” he said. “Margo, you’ve hurt me.”

 

“Love you, bitch,” Margo added. 

 

“Love you more, Bambi,” Eliot said, smiling. 

 

-9-

 

Margo’s room door was cracked open and Eliot was vainly trying to arrange his outfit without magic. “Jesus,” He said, huffing angrily. “How the hell did I get this thing on the first time?” 

 

From her perch on the edge of the bed, Margo laughed. “Good luck, sweetheart,” she said. “You’re on your own.” 

 

A voice interrupted Eliot’s struggle to get dressed. “Hey, El?” Josh was standing in the doorway, partially dressed with an untied tie draped around his neck. 

 

Eliot spun around, his cape wadded up in his hands. “There’s someone here for the wedding,” he explained. “Some lady and her kid.” 

 

“Fuck yeah,” Eliot said. He tossed his cape at the bed, starting towards the door. “C’mon, Margo. You need to meet my granddaughter. And you’ll never fucking believe what my great granddaughter’s called.” 

 

Margo tipped Josh’s chin down and gave him a long kiss before she followed Eliot out the door. 

 

-8-

 

Waiting just inside the castle doors were Arielle and Bambi. As soon as Eliot rounded the corner, Bambi spotted him and squealed happily. “Granpa!” 

 

“Come here, baby girl,” Eliot said, crouching down and holding his arms out. She launched herself at him with such force that he almost toppled backwards but flung to her. “I missed you, kiddo,” he said, kissing her forehead. 

 

“Missed you, too,” Bambi said, almost serious, her head buried in his shoulder. Eliot spun her around a little before turning to Margo, the little girl on his hip. 

 

“Margo, this is Bambi,” Eliot said, bouncing the girl on his hip once. “Bambi, this is Auntie Margo. She’s the High Queen. Where your mom got your name.” 

 

Margo blinked at Eliot and the girl for a second, shifting her gaze between them. “Holy shit,” she said. “Hey, girl.” Margo brushed a curl of the little girl’s hair back. “Guess you didn’t get your looks from your grandpa, huh? You’re way prettier than he is.”

 

Bambi giggled. “Thank you,” she said. Eliot laughed, too, his eyes sparkling. “Turning my own against me,” he said. By then Arielle had approached. Eliot sat Bambi down before turning to the other woman. “Arielle,” he greeted. 

 

“Granpa,” Arielle said happily, squeezing him tight before pulling away. It was a little weird for Eliot, a man in his 20s, to be called Granpa, but what part of his life wasn’t a little weird? It was the only thing Arielle knew him by, anyway. He wouldn’t make her call him something different. “I missed you,” she said. 

 

“I know,” he said with a cheeky smile, giving her another side squeeze and a kiss on her temple. “Missed you, too.”

 

“We’re all ready for the wedding,” Arielle said with a smile. “I put flowers in Bambi’s hair.”

 

“She looks adorable,” Eliot said. He paused, glancing behind him to see Margo talking with the little girl. “Hey, Bambi,” he called. “Come here.” Both Margo and the little girl looked up and Eliot laughed. “Margo,” he clarified. 

 

The elder Bambi delicately approaches, squeezing Eliot’s arm. “How did you help make something that adorable?” she said. 

 

“Biologically, that shit’s all Q,” he said. “Margo, this is Arielle, my granddaughter. Arielle, this is Margo.”

 

Arielle dipped into a curtsy, smiling brightly. “It’s an honor to finally meet you, Queen Margo,” she said sincerely. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

 

Margo waved her hand dismissively. “You’re family,” She said. “Any family of El’s is family of mine. Margo’s fine.” She paused for a beat before asking, “So, what have you heard about me?” 

 

Arielle smiled again. “The best things,” She said. “Granpa told my father the most wonderful stories. He called you his soulmate.” 

 

Margo turned towards Eliot, arching her eyebrow. “Soulmate?” she asked. 

 

Eliot shrugged. “There’s no other way to describe you, darling,” he said. He took her hand, bowing low and kissing the back of it. “I love you.” 

 

Margo laughed, her heart warming in her chest. 

 

Bambi the younger appeared, tugging gently on her mother’s sleeve. “Can we see Grandad?” She asked, her eyes wide and innocent. 

 

“Of course, love,” Arielle said. She leaned down and scooped up her daughter, balancing her on her hip. 

 

“Give him my love,” Eliot said, planting a kiss on Bambi’s forehead. 

 

“It was a pleasure meeting you,” Arielle told Margo again, dipping her head in farewell as Josh led them off into the castle.

 

“I like your family,” Margo said, threading her arm through Eliot’s. “Queen Margo.” She paused in her speech as they continued down the halls back to Eliot’s room. “Am I really your soulmate?” she asked. 

 

“Of course,” Eliot said. 

 

“What about Q?” she asked.

 

“A guy can have more than one soulmate, you know,” he said. “I love you and I always have and I always will. Q’s perfect for me but you’re perfect for me, too.” 

 

Margo laughed, leaning her head against Eliot’s arm as they walked. “I knew there was a reason I kept you around,” she said.

 

-7-

 

“Fuck,” Josh whispered, shuffling a stack of notecards back and forth between his hands. “Fuck, fuck…” 

 

Margo frowned slightly at him, stopping in the doorway she had just been crossing in front of. “What’s wrong?” she asked, slipping into the room.

 

“Everything I wrote it wrong,” Josh said weakly. “There’s, like… 20 minutes of Fillory quotes and shit before I even say their names! What do I do?”

 

Margo laughed softly, shaking her head. “Just speak from the heart, okay, babe?” she said. “You’ll do great. I know you will.” She leaned over, tipping his chin up and giving him a long, sweet kiss on the lips. “I need to go find El again. I think he went to find Cancer Puppy II.” 

 

She flounced out of the room, leaving Josh behind her. He reached up, touching his lips like he didn’t believe the kiss was real.

 

-6-

 

Quentin chewed on his bottom lip, pacing back and forth. His hair was styled neatly, down instead of pulled up like normal. He was dressed and ready to get married, yet he was still waiting for someone. He’d seen Arielle and Bambi and had Margo fuss over his hair and did a hit of a joint with Josh and talked to Julia and still hadn’t seen Eliot. Everything seemed to be going perfect but there was still something missing. Someone missing. 

 

He knew when he sent the rabbits to Alice that she probably wouldn’t come even if she did get them. Why would she? They weren’t as good friends as they used to be. They were exes, for Christ’s sake. But there was a part of Quentin that still loved her, always would, and wanted her at his wedding. 

 

“Hey, Q. Ready to go?”

 

Quentin was jolted out of his musings and his pacing back and forth when Julia spoke. He flinched, sighing when his muscles relaxed. Julia tended to always be like that. Quiet and he wouldn’t notice her until she scared the shit out of him. “I think so,” he said. Julia was here, at least. Julia, his best friend, who had always been his best friend. His best man, too. She looked pretty in her outfit, a mash-up of Fillorian and Earth styles.

 

She entered the room, squeezing his shoulder and pulling him into a hug. “You’re going to do great,” she told him as he hugged her back. “You’re a fucking idiot and he’s a fucking idiot, but your stupidity works. He’s madly in love with you, for some reason.”

 

The joke had the desired effect and Quentin smiled. He wasn’t too nervous about marrying Eliot - they’d already been married once, after all - but he couldn’t lie. He was just a little nervous about a lot of things. He was getting married.

 

Julia pulled back from the hug, reaching up behind his neck to fasten the cape. Eliot had insisted upon the capes and Quentin didn’t have the heart to tell him no. He was fond of them, too, just not as fond as Eliot was. “Let’s go,” she said, squeezing his arm again before they both headed towards the door. 

 

They had just left the room and taken a right towards the back of the castle when Quentin noticed a figure at the end of the hall. She may have just appeared or she may have been there forever, Quentin wasn’t really sure. He wasn’t sure he cared, either, because the figure had straight blonde hair and looked exactly like the Alice Quinn he remembered. 

 

“Alice,” he breathed. He felt movement beside him, Julia brushing against his cloak. 

 

“I’ll meet you down there,” she murmured and disappeared as quiet as she’d come, leaving Quentin and Alice alone in the corridor. 

 

Neither of them spoke for a long time but eventually it was Quentin who broke the silence, starting towards her a little awkwardly. For all he’d wanted her here, he wasn’t sure what to do now that she was here. He hadn’t planned out what exactly he was going to say to her. “I didn’t think you’d come,” he said. 

 

“Why not?” Alice asked, shrugging slightly. She was pressed nicely, her skirt and blouse pressed and her hands behind her back. 

 

“I don’t know,” Quentin confessed. He paused before weakly trying to joke, “You never RSVPed.” 

 

Alice smiled, that same smile Quentin had seen countless times on her face. He remembered the way her lips curved up vividly. “So, you and Eliot,” she said. 

 

“Me and Eliot,” he agreed. 

 

“You know, I think I always knew it was going to be you two,” Alice said. “From the beginning. Part of me always knew. Especially when you slept together.”

 

Quentin felt a pang in his chest at the memory. He really hadn’t meant for their relationship to end as it had. “Alice, I’m-”

 

“Don’t be,” she said, cutting him off. “God, Quentin. That was years ago and…” She laughed. “You’re getting married today. Don’t apologize for us not working out. We were never going to. I’m just glad you found someone you do work with.” Quentin smiled faintly, wanting more than ever to reach out and hug her. 

 

“I did love you,” he said. “I still do.”

 

“I know,” Alice said, tucking a lock of blonde hair behind her ear. “So do I.” 

 

There was a thick, heavy silence until without warning, they each took the other into their arms and held on tight like they would never let go.

 

-5-

 

Bambi was an excellent flower girl, Quentin thought as he watched her come up the aisle. She was wearing an adorable dress, flowers in her hair matching the ones in her basket, and she was trailing petals behind her. What made the whole arrangement even better was that Arielle held the little girl’s hand and walked with her down the aisle. His family was here. All of them. Julia, Alice, Margo, Arielle, Bambi, Josh, Fen… And Eliot. Always Eliot. 

 

-4-

 

Quentin looked beautiful, Eliot thought. He was there, waiting for Eliot at the top of the aisle standing next to Josh, and he looked absolutely beautiful. Before he could stop it, there were tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. “Oh, Jesus,” he said, wiping under his eye with a finger. “He’s gonna mess up my makeup.” 

 

Margo laughed, linking her arm through Eliot’s. “I love you, El,” she said, “and you look beautiful. Ready, bitch?” 

 

“Ready,” Eliot said. With Margo by his side, he took his first step into the unknown. 

 

-3-

 

Quentin cried. Eliot was beaming, happier than Quentin had ever seen him. Margo was on his arm, escorting him down the aisle with his cape billowing behind him. His wedding attire was flawless but it couldn’t compare to the look in his eyes. The look of completion. Happiness. That was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. 

 

“Sap,” Julia whispered behind him. Quentin laughed softly, shaking his head. Even when he was impossibly crushing on Julia, he never imagined he’d find himself at the head of an aisle with her. But being here with Eliot was the realization of every dream he knew and didn’t know he had. He was going to spend the rest of whatever life he had left with the man he loved more than anything. 

 

“Sorry,” he said, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. 

 

“Don’t be,” Julia whispered. “It’s sweet.”

 

It really was, Quentin thought. Getting married to Eliot was the sweetest sugar he’d ever tasted. 

 

-2-

 

When Eliot finally reached the head of the aisle, Quentin held out a hand. Eliot took it, pulling his lover in for a tight hug that squeezed all of the breath out of him. “Eliot,” Quentin said with a laugh, squeezing him back. “What are you doing?”

 

“Hugging you,” Eliot whispered into his ear. “Couldn’t wait. Also trying to hide the fact that I’m crying.” 

 

Quentin laughed and it was truly the most beautiful thing Eliot had ever heard. He loved it. He wanted to hear it every day of his life and he hoped now he’d get to. When they finally pulled apart, Quentin reached up to brush a lock of Eliot’s hair away from his forehead, tucking it under his crown, and Eliot melted at the touch of his fingers. “God, you’re beautiful,” Quentin said softly and Eliot almost started crying again. 

 

“Shut up,” he said, pushing Quentin’s shoulder lightly. The gesture pulled a laugh from both him and Margo. 

 

“Alright, Josh,” Eliot said, taking Quentin’s hands and squeezing them. “Let’s get this show on the road. I wanted to be married yesterday.”

 

Clearing his throat, Josh began to speak. “Marriage,” he said. “Marriage is what brings us together today. Marriage, that blessed arrangement, that-”

 

Josh’s words were cut off when Margo elbowed him in the stomach. “Let’s skip the Princess Bride bit, babe,” she said. “Don’t think these idiots can wait that much longer.”

 

Sighing, Josh spoke again. “Guys, gals, talking animals, and non-binary pals, we are gathered here today to join Quentin Coldwater and Eliot Waugh in marriage. It’s been a long,  _ long,  _ and winding road for these two lovebirds. They spent 40 lifetimes together-”

 

“41,” Quentin and Eliot said at the same time. 

 

“41 lifetimes together,” Josh amended, “and they want to do this again, so I say we keep this short and sweet. I assume you prepared your own vows?”

 

Eliot nodded but he really wasn’t seeing or hearing anything other than Quentin.

 

“Eliot, you wanna say some stuff about Q?” Josh asked. 

 

“Do I,” Eliot said. He squeezed Quentin’s hands again, took a deep breath, and started to speak. 

 

“I tried to kill myself,” he said. “I tried to kill myself so many times that I fucking lost track. Booze, drugs, even magic couldn’t save me. Fillory did, though. Fillory saved me because it gave me what I really needed and what I really needed was you. You loved me, unconditionally, even when I was being a total dick, which is fairly often, really. You lived an entire life with me in that cottage beside the Mosaic. We had kids, grandkids… We had a home. I thought for awhile that it was the cottage that was home, but then I realized it was you. I’m not home unless I’m with you. And you saved me, too, Quentin. You saved me more times than I can count. Not because I can’t count very high, but because there were a lot of times. I remember one time you told me, back at Brakebills, I think, that you’d never seen me really care about something and I told you it was because things weren’t usually worth caring about. But I found one of my limited, very important exceptions, and it’s you.”

 

There was a long few beats of silence, broken only by sniffling. It was coming from behind Eliot - both Margo and Josh. Quentin’s eyes were watering but he was smiling. “You’re perfect, you know,” Quentin said, squeezing his hand. 

 

“I know,” Eliot said. “I’m pretty great. Now, your turn.”

 

“Well, um… Destiny is bullshit,” Quentin started. “And I know I’ve said that, like… 27 times, at least. Destiny is bullshit. But we’re here, you and me. Somehow, we kept finding each other. All of those timelines Jane kept resetting us into, our life here in the past, now… We keep finding each other. So there is no destiny, but there is us. There’s always us and I love you so fucking much, and I’m so fucking glad I get to live this life with you.”

 

“Me, too,” Eliot said. He moved forward, leaning down to give Quentin a long, lingering kiss, but Josh, his voice watery, interrupted. 

 

“Hold your fucking horses,” he said. “We’re not there yet.”

 

Impatiently, Eliot huffed. “Rude,” he said. “Can we skip to the kissing part?”

 

“Seconded,” Quentin said. 

 

Josh shook his head. “Nope,” he said, popping the p. “Just hold on.” He reached into his pocket, finding the two enchanted rings. It had taken a bit of cheap spellwork to get the enchantment to let Quentin and Eliot get farther from the rings than a few feet, but their patch was already disappearing. “Here you go, El,” he said, holding one out. “Now you have to do the official part.”

 

Eliot sighed again. “I suppose I can be bothered,” he said, letting go of Quentin’s left hand with his right for the first time in the entire ceremony to take the ring. “I, High King Eliot the Spectacular, take thee, motherfucker, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold, in this and all other realms, until multiple deaths do us part.” He slid the ring on Quentin’s ring finger. It fit perfectly, just like he’d enchanted it to, the gold glinting on his finger. 

 

“Your turn, Q,” Josh said, offering Quentin the matching ring. His eyes never left Eliot’s face as he spoke. “I, Quentin Coldwater, take thee, Eliot Waugh, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold, in this and all other realms, until multiple deaths do us part.” He slipped the ring on Eliot’s fingers, his hand then cupping the back of Eliot’s neck. 

 

“Can we kiss now?” Eliot asked impatiently. 

 

“I now pronounce you husband and husband,” Josh declared. “You may now kiss the king.” 

 

They were moving towards each other before Josh even finished speaking. Quentin dipped Eliot in front of their entire family, pressing their lips together, and Eliot couldn’t have been happier.

 

-1-

 

“I think one of us is supposed to carry the other one across the threshold,” Eliot said. He and Quentin were linked together by their hands, hardly having parted for the entire duration of their wedding reception which had truly been a wild party. But now that party was over, the real excitement of the rest of their lives was beginning as they stood in front of their bedroom door together. 

 

“We don’t have to,” Quentin said. “That was kind of an old-fashioned Earth thing, anyway.” 

 

Eliot shrugged. “Fair enough,” he said, his hand on the doorknob. He opened the door, leading Quentin towards the bed. Before he was conscious of it, his back was on the mattress, his crown on the floor and his cape joining it. “I love you,” Quentin whispered, his lips so close to Eliot’s that he could practically taste the words.

 

Eliot was happier than he’d ever been. He wasn’t perfect, but he was here and he was happy and that was perfect enough.


End file.
